


Mine I Loved, and Mine I Praised

by Tinnean



Series: Men Were Deceivers Ever [3]
Category: Much Ado About Nothing (1993)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 04:22:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30083418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinnean/pseuds/Tinnean
Summary: Count Claudio casts aside Hero, his affianced wife, when he's made to believe she's not the maid she claims to be, and is having an affair with Don John's man Borachio. Benedick, Claudio's good friend, challenges him to a duel for being responsible for the death of an innocent lady. At this point, Claudio learns the whole thing was a set up, and Hero was indeed an innocent. In an effort to make amends, he allows Leonato to berate him, and then agrees to wed Leonato's "niece".Meanwhile, unsettling dreams disturb Claudio's sleep.
Relationships: Claudio/Benedick, Claudio/Hero
Series: Men Were Deceivers Ever [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/732000





	Mine I Loved, and Mine I Praised

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on Kenneth Brannagh’s 1993 version of Much Ado About Nothing. Therefore, Kenneth Brannagh portrays Benedick, Denzel Washington portrays Don Pedro, Keanu Reeves is the bastard, Don John, and Robert Sean Leonard as Claudio. Some of the dialog is taken from the movie/play, while most is of my own device. ;-) 
> 
> Many thanks to Gail for all her help.

_Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes? Why had I not with charitable hand took up a beggar’s issue at my gates, who, smirchèd thus, and mired with infamy, I might have said, “No part of it is mine; this shame derives itself from unknown loins”? But mine, and mine I loved, and mine I praised…._

_Much Ado About Nothing  
_

_Act 4 Scene 1_

Claudio marched staunchly by the side of his lord, Don Pedro, Prince of Aragon. Behind they—no, it was all on him. _He_ left Hero, her sire, uncle, cousin, countless friends including his own good friend Benedick, and Friar Francis, who was to have wed them. By his own words, Claudio had repudiated the woman he’d loved beyond life, as well as exchanging words with her father and uncle. He couldn’t remember ever feeling lower, although ’twas Hero who’d betrayed him. 

Lovely, gentle Hero, who’d proved to be none of what she’d seemed. He put her from his mind. 

God’s blood, he needed cheering, and who better to lift his spirits than Benedick, who was even now striding toward them, leading his stalwart mount. 

"Now, Signior, what news?" He waited a cheerful response. 

“I came to seek you both,” Benedick said in curt tones, the line of his mouth grim—nothing like his usual carefree manner. 

Don Pedro exchanged a quick glance with Claudio. His thoughts must have marched in time with Claudio’s, for he asked, “Art thou sick, or angry?” 

“You have killed a sweet lady,” Benedick snarled, his voice low and filled with contempt, and he released his mount’s reins and took another step forward. 

“What?” Claudio couldn’t believe what was happening. Benedick— _his good friend Benedick_ — had his long fingers wrapped around Claudio’s jaw, squeezing painfully and thrusting his head back to knock against the solid brick of the wall surrounding Leonato’s villa. “Never have I done aught by any lady, and damned be he who says otherwise,” he spat. 

“Do you damn me then? I speak of the lady Hero.” 

“That jade?” Claudio scoffed, although it pained him, thinking how once he loved her so well he had planned to join her name to his. “She is an approvèd wanton. How can you say otherwise?” 

But the disdain in his friend’s voice made it obvious he had no doubt of the innocence of Claudio’s former affianced wife. Poor fool, to be taken in so, when Claudio and the Prince had seen firsthand her betrayal with Borachio, Don John’s man. 

The squeeze of Benedick’s fingers tightened. “I will make it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when you dare.” 

“You’re challenging me? Over _Hero_?” 

“Verily, you knave.” Benedick shoved Claudio back, once again causing his head to slam against the wall, and Claudio bit back a groan. That was going to leave a good-sized lump. 

Don Pedro drew close, his hand raised in appeasement. “Good Benedick, this is not well done of you—” If it was the Prince’s intent to placate the other man’s ire, Claudio feared it wouldn’t help. Still, he held still, waiting to see what would unfold. 

Benedick turned his glare on the Prince. “Your brother the Bastard is fled from Messina,” he snarled. His words caused Don Pedro to come to an abrupt halt. “You have among you killed a sweet and innocent lady.” Fury blazed in Benedick’s dark blue eyes as he once again wheeled on Claudio, and Claudio would have shied away from him had there been anywhere to go. “For my Lord Lackbeard, there, he and I shall meet. Till then, peace be with him.” 

Peace? How could he have even a moment of peace with Benedick so furious with him? His friend stalked to his mount, seizing the animal’s reins and leading it away. 

“He is in earnest.” Don Pedro seemed shaken by Benedick’s words. 

“In most profound earnest.” Claudio could have wept. Whether ’twas true or not about Hero—and if it were true, it did indeed make him look a right knave—he couldn’t complain of being sorely used. He massaged his jaw, for Benedick’s grip had been fierce, and the fact his friend was willing to abuse him so… “Think you he had the right of it regarding your brother?” 

“As reluctant as I am to consider it… knowing John… aye, and were my sire not dead these fifteen years, I could verily do him a violence for begetting such a one as John.” 

The Bastard, a sullen man if ever one was, chanced to be ill-liked by all save a few of his cohorts, of most note his man Conrade, who was as protective of the Prince’s brother as a mother with her firstborn son. 

“Hold. What’s this?” the Prince queried. 

The night watch approached, dragging along Don John’s men, who reluctantly admitted to the Bastard’s plot to ruin Claudio’s wedding. 

Claudio stared at them in shocked dismay. Oh God, what had he done? He recalled the horrified expression on sweet Hero’s face, there because of his cold words. And then she had fallen to the ground in what he had thought was a faint caused by her shame, only now to be informed by his friend she was dead. The thought of a world without her sparkling eyes, lovely smile, and sunny nature—He turned his agonized gaze to the Prince. Surely his grace could tell him how best to remedy this. 

Don Pedro seemed even more disturbed, and when Claudio followed his gaze, he saw why. 

Leonato approached, his stride stiff with suppressed outrage and grief. “Which is the villain?” 

Claudio startled, thinking the older man was referring to him, but then he saw in which direction his gaze was directed: toward Don John’s men. 

Conrade’s expression was indecipherable, but Borachio… He looked pale and sick. 

_Of course_. If ever a bully was challenged, he’d back down, his tail tucked twixt his legs. Claudio regarded him with disdain. Conrade saw and raised an eyebrow. “Art so blameless, Count?” he asked. “It seems to me you had no trouble believing Hero would bed another on the eve of her wedding.” 

In spite of the dim light cast by the lanterns held by the watch, Claudio could see Borachio’s cheeks had gone from pale to bright red. 

“She could have explained.” Claudio made sure to keep his voice down. Leonato wouldn’t be best pleased to hear his protest, casting blame on the man’s dead, slandered daughter. 

“Did you give her the chance?” Conrade asked, his words even more insulting for their mildness. 

“How would you know?” Claudio refused to defend himself to the likes of Don John’s man. But then in spite of all, he found himself snapping, “You weren’t even there.” 

“Think you rumors didn’t fly throughout this benighted town? You accused her then left her to face the wrath of her sire and the disdain of even those who knew her.” Conrade made a scoffing sound. “Why even speak to you? You’re naught but a green boy, and if Hero still lived, I’d advise her to find another more worthy of her.” He turned away, putting some small distance between himself and the Bastard’s other man. 

Claudio didn’t think on it, too consumed by shame. Never had he felt so dismissed—with good reason, he had to admit, for he _hadn’t_ given Hero the opportunity to say a word in her own defense. He perforce had to look away. 

“Which is the villain?” Leonato demanded again. 

Borachio was unable to meet Leonato’s glare. However, the man did speak up. “If you would know your wronger, look on me.” 

“Art thou the slave that with thy breath hast killed mine innocent child?” 

Borachio swallowed, audible even where Claudio stood some feet away. “Yea, even I alone.” 

“No, not so villain.” The expression on Leonato’s face became deadly, frightening in such a graybeard, and Borachio shied away. “Here stand a pair of honorable men—a third is fled—that had a hand in it.” 

Claudio felt ill. He also would have taken a step back, but he forced himself to hold steady, for Leonato was right, as was Conrade, curse his soul. 

Leonato wasn’t finished with them yet. “I thank you, princes, for my daughter’s death,” he spat, his eyes narrowed in fury. “Record it with your high and worthy deeds. ’Twas bravely done.” 

“I know not how to pray your patience.” Claudio kept his spine stiff and straight. He was a gentleman, after all. “Choose your revenge yourself. Yet… sinned I not but in mistaking.” 

The Prince spoke. “By my soul, nor I.” 

“Hah.” But it was Conrade who made the scoffing sound, and not Leonato. 

Leonato gazed from one to the other of them. “I cannot bid you bid my daughter live—that were impossible—but I pray you both, possess the people in Messina here how innocent she died. Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb and sing it to her bones.” His shoulders slumped, and finally, anger spent, he drew in a shuddering breath and turned his gaze to Claudio. “And since you could not be my son-in-law, be yet my nephew.” 

“Sir?” 

“My brother hath a daughter, almost the copy of my child that’s dead.” 

Antonio came to stand beside Leonato, nodding vigorously. 

“Give her the right you should have given her cousin, and so dies my revenge.” 

Claudio stared into the old man’s eyes. In an effort to appease him, Claudio would agree to wed Leonato’s niece in place of his own beloved Hero. God help him. 

“This I will do.” Claudio placed his hand on his heart and bowed, signifying his willingness to accede to Signior Leonato’s demands—Leonato deserved nothing less. 

After giving his solemn vow to spend the night mourning his sweet Hero, he watched as Leonato and his brother roughly escorted Don John’s men to confront Margaret, the woman Borachio had called by Hero’s name as part of the Bastard’s plan—not so much to ruin Claudio’s affianced wife by treading upon her honor, but to ruin Claudio’s happiness, because he was Don Pedro’s man. 

Claudio wasn’t much of a poet, but he sang of his grief and regret as best he could to any who cared to listen, accepting as inevitable the townsfolks’ antipathy, for their lord’s daughter was well-loved by them all. Never had he faced such distain, although he didn’t know where they came about looking down on him. Hadn’t they been willing to believe the worst of Hero before her innocence was made known? Their antagonism toward him was most like a way to ease their own consciences. 

_What difference does that make now_? he demanded of himself. _None_ , and he was the last to blame anyone since he was in the wrong, and truly, Benedick had the right of it. If Claudio’s actions this night and on the morrow could not make amends, then he would meet with his friend and let Benedick’s sword drink deep of his blood. 

Distressed beyond measure—more at the remembrance of the abuse piled on his head by his friend than by the thought of wedding some unknown woman—he finished the song and turned to Don Pedro. “I… I must beg your leave, your grace.” 

“You should not be alone on this of all nights.” The Prince sounded as distressed as Claudio felt. 

“Please, my lord.” 

Don Pedro studied him for long minutes, and it took much for Claudio not to fidget. Finally, Don Pedro said, “Very well, seek out your quarters. I’ll have a flagon of wine sent to you. In the meanwhile, there’s still John to be dealt with.” His scowl became fierce. Claudio sketched a bow, and as he hurried off, he heard the prince call out, “Roderigo, take with you a handful of armed men, seek my brother, and return him to Messina. And if he raises the slightest objection, you need not be gentle with him.” 

Claudio continued on out of earshot; he cared to hear no more. As he neared the stair to the first floor, his steps slowed, and he made his way not to the luxurious suite Leonato had set aside for his daughter’s wedding night, but to the chambers he and Don Pedro had been given when they’d first arrived in Messina. Those rooms were quite sumptuous, as befitted his lord’s status, but they were as nothing to him, for he’d spend this night alone, when he should have been with his wife. Now, due to circumstances, no wife would be there waiting for him, her lovely bosom covered by a night rail of virginal white, trembling in anticipation. 

Claudio’s lower lip quivered. ’Twas just the night before he’d thought to teach her the ways of the flesh, becoming greatly aroused at the images that flashed through his mind, but he’d refrained from touching himself, intending to come to Hero as pure as the young woman herself. In truth, he’d been so involved in the art of war he’d had scant time or inclination to dally with the fairer sex. After seeing her with Borachio—as he’d been led to believe—his arousal had fled, and he’d grown furious to think he’d denied himself the pleasures of the flesh she more than like knew more of than he. 

But now… to learn how very wrong he had been in spite of what his eyes had assured him was true… 

He considered Benedick’s words. How could he have been so wrong? Claudio felt his fury mount once again, this time directed at the Bastard. “As God is my witness,” he swore as he climbed the stair and strode through the dimly lit hallway that led to their rooms, “Don John will pay heavily for this. I’ll see he regrets this act to his dying day.” 

Claudio yanked open the door, entered their lodging, and crossed to the chamber reserved for him. In spite of the warm weather, a fire burned in the hearth, giving the room a measure of cheeriness which failed in its intent. Don Pedro was as good as his word, for a flagon of excellent wine sat on the small table by the window, along with a platter of bread and cheese. The thought of putting anything into his mouth turned his stomach. However, he poured himself a goblet and quaffed it down, coughing slightly as it hit the back of his throat. It was so good he poured himself another, and then a third whilst he considered what he would do to the Prince’s brother, the Bastard. 

He’d get Benedick to help come up with a plan… No, for his good friend was so out of reason cross with him he’d no longer be willing to give him aid of any sort. 

Deeply saddened at the mull he’d made of his life, Claudio raised the flagon to pour himself another goblet of wine, only to discover the flagon empty. He sighed, set aside both objects, and dropped down to the edge of the bed. He leaned forward to tug off his boots, fortunately not toppling over to fall on his face. 

Benedick… A slow, fat tear rolled down Claudio’s cheek, and still fully clothed, he lay back on the bed, covering his eyes with his forearm. His thoughts turned to that night after their victorious battle, not so many days past; on the morrow, they were to begin their journey to Messina and the friends and gentle ladies they’d left behind. Don Pedro’s company of soldiers made camp, and they’d eaten and caroused and had a splendid time. 

Claudio smiled at the memory, although not for very long. There was a period during that night where he could recall nothing—his memory was blank. It was odd, for although he wasn’t in the habit of drinking copious amounts of wine, he did have a head for it. However he must have imbibed too freely on this occasion, for he’d been wandering aimlessly through the part of camp where Don John’s men had set their tents when he regained his senses. 

_“Odds bodkins, what a strange night.” He felt off, as if his body were not quite his own. “And what am I doing in this part of camp?” He gazed around and blinked owlishly before smiling a trifle drunkenly. “Of course. I was seeking out my good friend Benedick.” He sorted out his direction, made his way to the man’s tent, and poked his head in._

_“How now, Claudio? How is’t with you?” Benedick peered at him through eyes as sotted as Claudio was sure his own were._

_“My throat is sore,” he had to confess, confused by the matter, since he’d always been healthy, even when he was a child._

_“Most like from the many huzzahs we shouted when we took the day after the battle.” Benedick grinned happily, pleased with his reasoning, but yet poured him out a goblet of wine laced with honey to soothe his throat._

_“And my arse?” Claudio took the vessel and quaffed it with gratitude, then lowered it and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, a vagrant thought causing him to wonder how it would feel if Benedick were to clear the soothing wine from his lips with his tongue. “How explain’st you that, sirrah?”_

_Benedick furrowed his brow—a most attractive brow, Claudio had to admit. His friend was obviously deep in thought, and quite some moments passed as he pondered the question, leaving Claudio to wonder if his friend slept with his eyes open. However, Benedick’s expression finally lightened. “Never doubt ’tis from the long days in the saddle, my friend. Truth to tell, mine own arse is somewhat the worse for all those days. My steed has the most jarring of gaits.”_

_Claudio chuckled. “Ah. Sound reasoning.”_

_“Of which I have much.”_

_“Now, if only the lady Beatrice thought so,” Claudio murmured, teasing. He’d thought his friend protested his dislike of the lady too much, had seen the way Benedick observed her when he thought none was there to see._

_“What say you?” Abruptly, Benedick seemed sober, and Claudio smothered a laugh._

_“Nothing, nothing.”_

_Benedick blinked at him owlishly, then must have accepted Claudio’s little lie. “Tell me, Claudio, have you need of me?”_

_“Aye, I do. You have magick in your fingertips, and I’m in need of a soothing massage.” He’d sought out Benedick, he of the skillful fingers and strong arms, who’d never failed in giving Claudio’s body ease._

_And so it proved once again._

____

****

__

__

On this night, however, Claudio had neither friend nor wife. With lethargic movements, he rose and shed his clothes, then reached to pour himself another goblet of wine, only to swear when he recalled none was left. He muffled a groan and let himself fall back onto his lonely bed, rubbing the dampness from his eyes with the heels of his hands. On the morrow he must needs make amends with Leonato by wedding the man’s niece, although how could one truly amend one’s heinous deed, which caused the death of a beloved daughter? 

With a deep sigh, he curled onto his side, pulled up the covers, and drifted into a light doze comprised of images of a man—perhaps it was his friend—positioning him on his belly on a cot. Yes, of course it was he. Who else could it be? 

Benedict spread wide Claudio’s legs and stroked a teasing finger over his balls. And then Benedick smeared a greasy unguent over his anus, and Claudio didn’t recognize the sound he made. Benedick’s other hand held him firm as he began pushing his finger into Claudio’s body. The sensation was unusual but he couldn’t say distasteful. 

He was distracted when another man came to stand at his head, his visage a blur. Ah, dreams were what they were—this must be Benedick, raising Claudio’s chin and pressing a fingertip to his lips until Claudio perforce must part them and accept the thick girth of the man’s member as it entered his greedy mouth. Claudio had seen his friend naked in the bath often and often, and in his most secret thoughts had wondered what it would feel like to be possessed by the man. Now he would know. He hummed and began to suckle vigorously. The weight of the man’s prick on his tongue, his scent, his musky taste… 

Claudio found that although he liked it very much, his blood was still afire, and he wanted more, had to have more. He raised his arse and let his hips sway back and forth in an effort to encourage the other Benedick to take him and show him no mercy. There was no friction on his oozing prick, and when he would have lowered himself to his belly to rub against the rough blankets on the cot, he was jerked onto his knees again. He got no ease to his desire and mewled his desperation around the prick that plunged repeatedly into his throat. The man he sucked chuckled softly and ran almost tender fingers through his hair, the sensation more erotic than Claudio expected, but still, he would have pulled off and complained—it wasn’t enough—but then the finger in his arse was removed, and the other Benedick shoved into him roughly, stretching him, stretching him, causing him to burn and give a muffled shriek as the man took possession of his body. This was what he wanted from his friend, what he’d longed for… Yes, yes, Benedick in his throat and Benedick deep in his arse, fucking him harder and harder from both ends, his pace causing Claudio to rock unceasingly. 

The Benedick at his rear abruptly stilled, his hands like bands on Claudio’s hips, forcing him to hold still as his friend poured his essence deep into his bowels. With a quiet groan, the Benedick who fucked his throat clamped both hands around his head and poured his essence down Claudio’s throat, almost causing him to choke. But still he was afire. 

“More. More,” he begged silently, moaning a protest when Benedick pulled free from both ends, and his seed spilled from Claudio’s well-used arse and off his tongue. 

“You liked?” 

“Yes.” His hole clamped with the desire to be filled again. Benedick, his beloved friend, pressed back into him. “Yes and yes, and yes!” Claudio chanted. 

That sound penetrated the lustful fog he dwelt in, and with a jerk, he woke. His smallclothes were down around his knees and his hand was in them, and he realized it was his own finger toying with his fundament, stroking across it, dipping into it; he could have wept. Behind his closed eyelids, he pictured Benedick doing this to him, this intriguing… pleasurable sensation. But he was alone—no friend, no wife. Sticky and uncomfortable, he rose from his lonely bed and stripped off his damp and musky-smelling clothes. He padded naked across the room, poured some water into the basin on the hearth, and washed his own seed from his body. He’d never thought to have such a vivid imagination. The images that had pierced his mind had seemed so real and had roused him greatly, something he’d never believed possible, since he was a god-fearing man. 

He groaned. He was destined for hell. His life was horrible. He firmed his jaw. And on the morrow, he’d see to it that John the bastard’s life was even more horrible. 

Claudio blotted himself dry and returned to his lonely bed. In the morning he would marry this woman who was a copy of Hero. Perhaps… if he lived the day, he might find a measure of peace with Lady— 

Dear God… he didn’t even know her name.

****

As it turned out, her name was Hero, for his beloved lived, and right gladly would he wed her, especially since Benedick no longer was angry with him. 

Better yet, the Bastard John had been taken by Don Pedro’s armed men, and Benedick had said, “Think not on him till tomorrow. I’ll devise thee brave punishments for him.” Having said that, his friend’s expression lightened, and he called for pipers to play them a dance. 

Afterward they wed their ladies, for Benedick—much to Claudio’s secret dismay, although he loudly proclaimed himself well-pleased for his friend—had succeeded in wooing and winning the fair Beatrice. 

“My brother is in a cell and awaits our pleasure,” the Prince said. “As you suggested, Benedick, we’ll leave him for the morrow. For now, gentlemen, go you to your wives and enjoy them.” 

Claudio felt his mouth go dry. He’d never had a woman—in truth, save for those very vivid dreams, had never made love to either man or woman. 

Benedick clapped him on his shoulder, almost causing him to stumble. “Be of stout heart, lad.” 

Claudio gave what he hoped was a lascivious grin. “Lead on, my friend.” He held his breath, waiting to see Benedick’s response to that. 

Nothing. Claudio sighed. It mattered not what Benedick had said, it seemed. He was still angry with him. 

They made their way up the stairs to the second level of Leonato’s villa. Benedick seemed eager to join his wife in their chamber. Well, and so he should be, for they hadn’t been married a full hour yet. Claudio paused with his hand on the latch, waiting to see if his friend would gift him with a final smile. Benedick entered the chamber without a backward glance, and Claudio felt a hollow space where his heart should be. 

He pushed open the door and beheld Hero standing by the open window—the selfsame window Margaret had dallied with Borachio a mere night ago. He pushed the thought from his mind, admiring, instead, how the moonlight streaming through the light garment his wife… _his wife_... wore, silhouetting each delicious curve. 

She turned and gave him a shy smile. “Welcome, husband.” She crossed to a table and poured him a goblet of wine. “Will you drink with me?” 

“I will.” He took the bejeweled goblet, tapped it gently against the one she raised, and curled their arms together. “To our happy life together.” After a sip, he set aside his goblet. 

“Are you not thirsty, my Claudio?” She took a sip herself, then urged him silently toward her. Her lips were sheened with the sweet wine, and Claudio lowered his head to taste them. To his surprise, she opened her lips and encouraged him to drink from her mouth. 

Only after he’d finished did he wonder how she knew to do this. Could it be she truly wasn’t a maid, if not having sported with Borachio then with another man? 

She must have sensed his hesitation. “My lord? Did I not please you? Margaret assured me—” 

Ah. Hero’s serving woman, who was obviously no better than she should be. He’d have to see his bride had no further contact with her. “You pleased me greatly, sweet. See?” He pressed her palm to the front of his breeches. 

“Oh!” Her lips formed a perfect “o” and he couldn’t resist dropping a brief kiss to them. 

“Let’s to bed.” 

Her smile became joyous. “Yes!” 

He seized her hand, brought it to his lips, then tugged her night rail—as fine as gossamer—over her head, mussing her luxurious curls. 

Her slender fingers clung to his, and she backed toward the bed, encouraging him to follow. Claudio had to release her hand so he could remove his sword and prop it against the wall. With that done, he stripped off his shirt and breeches, regretting he didn’t have time to run a flannel under his arms and over his privates. He’d done a lackadaisical job that morning, before he’d realized it would be his own Hero who would exchange vows with him. 

“My lord!” 

“What is it, sweet?” He gazed down into her widened eyes. 

“Your sword is so big!” She stared at his manhood, which had swollen to its full size. “Will it fit?” 

“It will.” He smiled as he lowered himself onto her, nudging aside her pale thighs. He might not have actual experience, but he’d listened avidly when men spoke of the act. He curled his fingers around her thigh and raised it to rest at his waist. He remembered how in his dream skilled fingers toying with his fundament roused him, so now he ran a gentle forefinger along the folds of Hero’s womanhood, finding it slick. A touch to the top of her sex caused her to jerk and gasp, so he repeated the movement, and before long she was trembling and moaning. Claudio gripped his member, stroked it between Hero’s legs, then found her opening and began to push into her. 

“Oh! No! Wait, it is too big!” 

But it was too late, and Claudio was unable to stop his forward movement “Hush, sweet,” he whispered as she began to cry. “It will get better, I promise.” He tried to stop, but her struggles beneath him, her small fists pushing at him, only inflamed him more, reminding him of the dream where he himself had been helpless and so aroused by that very helplessness, and he exploded inside her. 

“Is this how you keep your promise, Claudio?” she wept. 

”I’m sorry, sweet. I’m so, so sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I swear—” 

“Do not swear—” 

Claudio gently squeezed her breasts and ran his thumbs over her nipples. Her inner muscles gradually relaxed. He kissed the line of her throat up to her jaw and from there to her lips. She stopped fighting him, and he smiled against her mouth. He’d make the next time perfect for the both of them.

****

They were dozing, Hero tucked against his side, her head resting on his chest, when someone scratching on his door roused him. 

“Count Claudio!” 

Claudio recognized the voice— ’Twas that of Don Pedro’s messenger—the man he’d sent ahead to inform Leonato only a few days prior that the Prince and his troop would soon be arriving in Messina. Claudio eased out from under his wife, dropped a kiss on her silky-smooth shoulder, wrapped a blanket around his waist, and padded to the door. “What is it?” 

The man gave a single glance at Claudio’s semi-nudity, then blinked and cleared his throat. “His grace wishes to see you and Signior Benedick at once in Signior Leonato’s stables.” 

“Why?” 

The man shrugged. “I never question his grace, especially when he’s in a foul temper.” 

Claudio nodded, although he couldn’t recall ever having seen Don Pedro angry. Perhaps it was the mischief his brother had wrought that saw the Prince thus. “Have you informed Benedick?” 

“I was about to.” 

“No need. I’ll fetch him. Tell his grace we’ll join him shortly.” 

The man bowed and hurried off. Claudio closed the door, tossed the blanket back on the bed, and hurried to gather up his clothes. 

“Claudio?” Hero’s voice was languid. “Whither goes my lord?” 

“The Prince has summoned me.” 

“His rooms are close by. You shouldn’t be long.” 

“On the contrary, I’m to meet him at the stables.” 

“How odd.” 

“Princes can be odd, sweet.” 

“If you say so, my lord.” She sighed and angled up on her elbow. “You won’t tell Benedick of my behavior this night, will you?” Even in the dim light he could see the blush color her cheeks. 

He’d planned to; how could he not boast of finally bringing his lady such pleasure? However, if she preferred he didn’t… “Of course not.” 

“Thank you. Beatrice told me men preferred their lady wives to not show such enthusiasm.” 

“I’ll not say a word.” Where had Beatrice picked up such a nonsensical notion? She’d struck him as a spirited woman. 

Hero beamed at him and blew him a kiss. “Don’t be long.” She watched as Claudio sought his clothes, smothering giggles as he muttered because they seemed to be hiding from him. She slid out of bed and lit a lamp, then set about finding the vagrant articles of clothing. 

“Thank you, sweet.” At least now he could see what he was going. 

She went to him, seeming unembarrassed by her lack of dress. Behind her on the white sheets, Claudio could see the bright red stain of her virgin blood, and he flinched at having doubted her. Hero seemed unaware, thank God. “I’ll have Ursula fetch us a tray of cheese and meats and bread, and a flagon of wine. I’m hungry, and I’m sure you must be also.” 

“I am, for more than food.” He leaned down and kissed her. “I’ll be back so quickly you won’t even realize I was gone.” 

She cupped his chin. “I love you, Claudio.” 

“And I you, sweet.” Another kiss, and he caught up his sword and strode out of their chamber. It only took a few steps for him to reach the rooms where Benedick and his bride were spending their wedding night. 

He tapped on the door with the hilt of his sword. “Benedick.” There was no response, and he rapped louder. “ _Benedick_!” 

The door was yanked open, and Benedick snarled, “What?” 

Claudio felt his eyes grow huge as he took in his friend’s lack of dress. Of course he’d seen the man naked before, but for some reason, this time felt oddly different, perhaps because of the dream he’d had the night before. “Shouldn’t you be wearing something?” After that one quick glance, he diligently kept his gaze above Benedick’s waist, and even then he had to look away after having noticed the bruises on the man’s torso and the love bites on his throat. _So this is what he looks like when he’s sated from making love_. Claudio swallowed and wondered if Hero had left such marks on him, grateful his clothing concealed them if she had. 

“Why? I plan to return to my wife’s bed as soon as I kick you out of here.” Benedick’s slumberous gaze cleared, and he frowned. “Why _are_ you here?” 

“Don Pedro wishes to see us in the stables.” 

“The stables? What can the Prince want with us there at this time of night?” 

Claudio shrugged. He hadn’t given it much thought—his duty was to serve Don Pedro in whatever task he required. “Perhaps he’s unable to sleep. He still has to deal with his brother. You promised to think of brave punishments for the Bastard.” 

Benedick’s visage immediately changed, and he swore. “I haven’t had the time—give me one moment to dress.” He turned on his heel, giving Claudio a glimpse of his muscled buttocks before he booted the door closed behind him. 

Claudio dragged a hand through his hair and paced the hallway. He’d been certain the time he’d just spent with his wife had cured him of his inappropriate desire for his friend. Unfortunately, it seemed not. Well, he’d just return to Hero’s bed and tup her until he no longer regarded Benedick with lustful eyes.

****

True to his word, Benedick quickly rejoined him. He paused, studied the sword that now hung from Claudio’s waist, then returned to his room. He didn’t shut the door this time, and Claudio noticed his pronounced limp. 

“Did you strain a muscle?” he asked. 

Benedick choked, while Beatrice—unseen in the shadows—giggled. When Benedick emerged from their chamber once again, his cheeks were scarlet. 

“Why are you limping?” 

“As you surmised, I… erm… strained a muscle.” Benedick ducked his head and became busy fastening his sword to his waist. It was also obvious to Claudio his friend didn’t wish to speak further on it. 

“What are we going to do?” 

“We’re going to see why Don Pedro wants us now.” 

They made their way down the staircase and out into the still-dark night, Benedick taking the lead to the stables. The night was silent save for the rustle of the leaves in the trees, the sky overcast, hiding a crescent moon behind a layer of clouds. 

Benedick, with Claudio at his heels, pulled open the stable doors and stepped into the warmth within, redolent with the scent of horses and the sweet odor of hay. “You summoned us, your grace?” 

Don Pedro faced them, his expression grim, and Claudio was stunned at how drawn the Prince appeared in just a matter of hours. “Close the doors.” 

Claudio spun on his heel and hurried to obey. He could well understand the reasoning behind his grace’s order—sprawled on the straw-covered floor lay Don John, his clothes in disarray, blood seeping from his nose, and bruises blooming on his cheek and jaw. In a semi-circle around him stood a number of the Prince’s men, including Roderigo. 

“Your grace, what’s toward?” 

“What do you think?” the Bastard growled. 

“Silence, John. My God, you try my patience.” Don Pedro turned his gaze to Benedick. “I regret I couldn’t wait for you to devise a worthy punishment for my brother.” 

“My lord?” 

“While you and our young friend here were enjoying your wedding night, I was sharing an excellent vintage with our host. The wine flowed freely, as did the conversation, and both Leonato and his brother Antonio became quite heated over what my brother did. In spite of knowing I planned to deal with John, they stated quite plainly they planned to take him from his cell and punish him themselves.” 

“Your grace, Don John may be a bastard, but he’s still your brother and a duke of Aragon.” 

“True. And if they attack him, in spite of the provocation and that Leonato is my dear friend, I would have no recourse but to declare war. Fortunately, both old men were soon in sotted slumber. The household staff carried them off to their beds.” 

Don John made a scoffing sound, and Roderigo wheeled on him and drove the tip of his boot into the Bastard’s side. “Silence, knave,” he spat. “Show some regard for your prince.” 

“Why? But for an accident of birth, it could have been him lying here with your boot print on his ribs.” 

That earned him a sour look from the Prince’s man. 

“Stay, Roderigo,” Don Pedro ordered. “John must be got from here as soon as may be.” 

“You can’t kill him, your grace,” Claudio said urgently. 

“You defend him?” Benedick demanded. “Claudio, do you forget what he did to you? To your bride?” 

“Well, no, but…” Claudio couldn’t help stating the obvious. “That would be fratricide.” 

“What matter? The Bastard should have been drowned at birth.” 

Don John gave a bitter laugh, spraying blood over his chin, doublet, and the ground before him. He wiped it away with his sleeve. “My brother won’t kill me. His soul would be damned for all eternity.” 

Don Pedro glared down at his brother, who in turn sneered up at him once again. “That isn’t to say you won’t be got rid of.” He turned to Benedick. “’Tis why I sent Roderigo to gather some men and bring John from his cell here to the stable.” 

“To what end, my lord?” 

“I’ve been too lenient with him. He’s had a taste of my wrath, but there will be more to come. When we’re done here, I’ll have him tossed in a cart and bid him begone from my sight. No longer will he be permitted within the borders or Aragon.” 

“My steed?” 

Don Pedro bared his teeth. “I’ll give him to the knacker to be made into dogfood.” 

“Your grace, I’ve seen the animal. It’s a good mount, too good to feed the city’s curs,” Claudio protested. 

“Very well.” Don Pedro gave him a fond look. “I’ll gift the beast to you.” 

“And what of my men?” the Bastard managed to get out from split lips. 

“They’ll become my men, swearing fealty to me.” 

“What, all of them?” 

“Aye, all of them.” Don Pedro took obvious pleasure in informing his brother of the betrayal by men who had once sworn allegiance to him. 

“Be damned to them then, and be damned to you, brother,” Don John growled. “Think you I’ve not had worse done to me?” 

“ _Bastard_ ,” Don Pedro hissed. 

“More our sire’s fault than mine.” 

“You—” Don Pedro drew back his booted foot and landed a blow that caused Claudio to wince in reluctant sympathy, but before the Prince could do even more damage, as he’d no doubt like, the stable doors were thrown open. “Who dares…” he thundered. 

A lad Claudio knew must be one of Leonato’s servant boys rushed up to the Prince and bobbed his head. “Your grace, my mistress sent me to find you.” 

“Your mistress?” 

“The master is abed, his eyes are set for eight in the morning, so Lady Hero was fetched when the messenger arrived and none could find you.” 

“Ah, I see. Go on, boy. From whence came this messenger?” 

“Aye, milord.” The boy held up a crumpled missive. “He is but newly arrived from Illyria and brings word from Duke Orsino.” 

The Prince immediately stepped away from his brother and held out his hand. The lad dropped the paper onto his palm. Don Pedro smoothed the sheet and ran his gaze over the lines. 

“What news, your grace?” Benedick queried. 

“Orsino is seeking help—much help, for his country is seriously embattled. He has been a friend from the time of our youth, and I can do nothing less.” 

“Dost know the cause, Prince?” 

“A knight by the name of Aguecheek has sworn revenge for wrongs done him,” Don Pedro declared. “Apparently everyone thought him a right fool.” 

“It appears not.” 

“No.” He turned to the lad. “Tell your mistress I’ll meet with the messenger shortly.” 

The boy sketched an awkward bow and raced away. 

Don Pedro turned to stare thoughtfully at Claudio, then turned his gaze to Benedick. “How did the boy know to find me here, think you?” 

“That is on me, your grace,” Claudio admitted, “for I told my lady wife where I would be meeting you.” 

“I see. It won’t look good if word gets around of how my brother has been treated.” 

“Think you so? There’s not much love for Don John.” 

“Very true. Well, no matter.” The Prince gave his brother a final boot to his ribs. Claudio watched dispassionately as the Bastard cradled his side as if to protect it from further damage. “Let us retire, and do you two return to your wives and enjoy them before we depart on the morrow. Mayhap you’ll get them with child and will return to bouncing baby sons on your return.” He signaled two of his men, nodded toward the bastard’s motionless form, and when they stepped forward, he gestured toward the tack room. “Dispose of this.” 

They lifted the Bastard by his arms and dragged him out of sight into the shadows of the stable, his boots scuffing along the floor. 

“I’ll send word to my quartermaster and have him begin to gather what provisions we’ll need. He’s a stout fellow and should have all that we require in wagons by morn. I hope to have us all on the road by noon at the latest.” Don Pedro dusted his hands, then frowned at his bruised knuckles. “Get you to your wives.” 

Benedick paused as they were about to leave the stable. “And you, your grace? You need rest.” 

“I must finalize plans.” 

“You can do that on our sea voyage to Illyria,” Benedick urged. 

Don Pedro studied him for a moment. Finally, he said, “Very well. I’ll find something to help while away the rest of the night.” 

Something, or someone? 

“We can keep you company if you wish it,” Claudio assured him. He worried his lip. Was he coming across as reluctant to return to the chamber where Hero awaited him? That wasn’t his intent. He loved his wife, but his duty lay with Don Pedro. 

The Prince gave a faint smile. “Thank you, good Claudio, but neither Hero nor Beatrice would forgive me.” For a moment he looked sad, and Claudio recalled his friend’s words to their lord earlier in the day. 

“ _Art sad, count. Get thee a wife. Get thee a wife._ ” Perhaps Don Pedro should find a lady to not only warm his bed but to stand by his side. 

“Go you to them,” he said now. “I believe I’ll seek out Roderigo and see if we can come up with a way to make amends with our host.” He held up a hand. "And then I'll to bed, I promise thee." 

Claudio opened his mouth to remind the Prince that Leonato was abed, but Benedick spoke before he could. 

“Then we’ll bid you good night, your grace.” Benedick swept him a deep bow—such an elegant action. Well, perhaps Don Pedro had something else in mind and used that merely as an excuse. Claudio hurried to copy his friend’s bow and followed him from the room. 

“Benedick, hold. Have we time for a drink?” 

Benedick eyed him with some curiosity, and Claudio hunched a shoulder. 

“The night’s labors have left me dry,” he offered as an excuse. 

“Perhaps one, if we’re quick about it. I would hear if Hero has truly forgiven you.” Benedick headed off to the local tavern, and Claudio followed with a mix of relief and dismay. He’d have to find a way to keep from his friend the knowledge of how much his beloved had forgiven him.

****

“Hardly a good idea,” Benedick complained. 

“’Twas you selected this tavern.” And unfortunately, the place was too crowded for them to linger. 

“What choice had I? It’s the only one in Messina, and you would want to come here on the eve of us leaving.” He huffed an impatient breath. “Do you order us ale—I’ve no head for more wine this night. I’ll find a table.” 

Claudio felt his mind whirl in consternation, and he sighed and stepped up to the bar. He caught the publican’s eye and held up two fingers. “Two tankards of ale.” 

The man quickly poured them, so busy he had no time to probe for information regarding their departure in the morning, which suited Claudio. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about the previous few days or the days to come. He laid down coin for the ale and brought the tankards to the table his friend—if Benedick still was his friend, which remained to be seen—had found. With all the day’s activities, he hadn’t had time alone to speak with Benedick. 

He slid a tankard across the table and took a swallow of his own ale before clearing his throat, unwilling just then to meet the man’s gaze. “Do you forgive me?” 

“Didn’t I cry us friends?” Benedick snapped, his tone more truculent than Claudio could remember hearing. 

When he finally met Benedick’s gaze, he realized he’d have to clarify his question. “Has your lady given you leave to forgive me?” 

Benedick stared at him. “You’re a fool.” 

“I see. So she hasn’t.” 

“Well, according to my lady, neither has Hero forgiven you.” 

This startled him. Hero had seemed so warm and loving— 

“Had I wronged Beatrice the way you wronged Hero, she’d have handed me my head.” 

More like his balls. And of course she expected her cousin to behave in like manner toward Claudio. Now Hero begging him not to reveal how loving their joining had been made some sense. But dear God, women were confusing. Men, on the other hand, were so much simpler to understand. Benedick would most like have kicked his arse, they would have scuffled a bit, and that would have been the end of it. He pictured the two of them rolling on the ground, their pricks coming into contact in spite of the clothes that interfered with the sensation—Sweat began to trickle along his cheekbone, and he took another swallow of ale. 

Why was he in such a green and yellow melancholy? He should be best pleased, especially now that he’d had both man and maid— 

Why had he thought that, when he’d only had a maid? He shook his head. He’d had much to drink this night. What he meant was he’d have Benedick as his friend once more, and Hero as his wife. 

Although truth to tell, he would have preferred… No! What was he thinking? This was the way it was meant to be, as God decreed it. 

“I should never have married.” He bit his lip. He hadn’t meant to say that aloud. 

“I thought Hero loved you. I thought you loved Hero.” 

“I did. I do.” He began to consider. He had wronged her, however inadvertently, and although she claimed to have forgiven him, simple words of apology could never be enough. He’d have much to do to make amends—his honor as a gentleman demanded nothing less. “But the woman holds a grudge like no man’s business,” he added in hopes Benedick would give word of that to Beatrice. 

A laugh came from a man at a nearby table. Claudio wheeled in his seat to face him, slightly shaken. The tavern was so crowded he hadn’t paid much heed to those around him and had spoken freely. If it got out his lady was still unhappy with him… The people of Messina already had little cause to look kindly on him. 

“Do you laugh at me, sirrah?” 

“I laugh at you, I laugh at me, I laugh at this entire benighted world.” The man’s voice had a familiar ring to it, but the tavern was dim, and the ale seemed to be affecting him. 

“Come, Claudio. “ There was a sneer in Benedick’s tone as he pushed himself to his feet. “’Tis naught but Conrade, Don John’s creature.” 

Conrade? Claudio tilted his head to study the man, forgetting for a moment his friend. 

The man gave Benedick an insultingly snide smile, and Benedick spat out a curse, earning an even more condescending curl to Conrade’s lips. His friend turned and strode away. 

Claudio sent a longing glance after his friend. He opened his mouth to call Benedick back, but then shut it. He’d have sworn on more than one occasion he’d heard Conrade’s voice whispering salacious things to him in his dreams. He spoke before he realized he was about to say anything. “Sometimes, late at night, I have a memory…” He cut off the remainder of his words and worried his lower lip. 

Conrade shrugged. “Why would you talk to me of your memories?” 

Why, indeed? Claudio pushed all such vagrant thoughts from his mind and hurried in pursuit of his friend. His friend? He gave a determined nod. His friend.

****

Claudio caught up with Benedick as he was about to enter Leonato’s villa. “What think you will happen to Don John?” 

“I care not. As long as the Bastard is out of our lives, that’s all that matters.” 

“Will—” Claudio took a breath. “Think you we’ll return from Illyria alive?” 

The dismissive look slipped from Benedick’s face to be replaced by a mix of fondness and exasperation. “Dolt! Of a certainty we will!” The next instant Claudio found himself wrapped in his friend’s arms. “I won’t allow anything to happen to you.” 

“You won’t?” 

“I vow on my life. Now hie you to your wife.” He stroked Claudio’s check. “Art my good friend, and I regret I gave you such a difficult time. Although frankly… you deserved it.” He dropped a kiss on Claudio’s hair, then turned him and gave him a push. 

Once again they parted ways, Benedick off to his bride while Claudio watched him walk away. This time, though, Benedick paused at his door, glanced over his shoulder, and sent Claudio a beaming smile and brief wave, which Claudio returned with great joy. 

He opened the door and stepped inside, knowing he would have to inform his bride of their departure on the morrow, but also knowing, whatever the future held for him and his friend... their friendship was staunch, and never would he do aught to risk losing it.

~The End~


End file.
